


The Dalish Curse

by RoyalElfroot



Series: Kinktober 2019 [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blackmail, Blackwall Spoilers, Dragon Age Inquisition, Dragon Age Spoilers, F/M, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Smut, blackmail fetish, coercion fetish, dragon age smut, kinktober2019, slow burn smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 20:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21167624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyalElfroot/pseuds/RoyalElfroot
Summary: Kinktober day 24: blackmail/reluctant sexA Dalish seer strips Blackwall of all Illusions...and other things. *GAME SPOILERS*





	The Dalish Curse

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to do another Blackwall ship so soon...then I saw the prompt... Spoilers, you've been warned. If you haven't finished the game to a certain point, do not continue.  
Sorry for my spotty updates. Please accept a more slow burn fic to make up for it. I'm apparently really bad at just writing straight up smut scenes. I gotta put some plot into my porno, I guess.

It had been outside the glistening gates of Val Royeaux. Canvas-covered stalls were set up along the road manned by farmers and tradespeople too dusty or poor for the city itself, but eager for any of the spoils that the road could offer.  
It was easy to be distracted, when the Inquisitor’s sole purpose of visiting the city was to spend gold. Why not start here, where one coin could feed a whole family?  
Plus, admittedly, Blackwall was grateful for a break from the saddle. It seemed that he had been run ragged alongside the driven Inquisitor as of late. They had combed the hissing wastes so thoroughly, he was sure the sand would never truly ever be shaken from his boots.  
He lead his mount along the fronts of the shabby stalls at the edge of the little temporary market, inspecting root vegetables and herbs halfheartedly as the rest of the party gathered around the wares of a home meadery to haggle over casks.  
One tent caught the warden’s attention, and he permitted his curiosity to bring him closer. It was a true tent, draped in faded scarlet and orange canvas that although drab shone like a flame in comparison to the other shops and stalls around it. He tied his horse to a shoddy post driven into the dirt outside the flap of fabric that made the tent’s door, oddly driven by a seemingly unnatural curiosity to see what was inside.  
Strong-smelling smoke permeated the interior of the tent, which was dark except for where the overlapping layers of canvas admitted slim shafts of sunlight. The smoke curled and wove through the air, generating a thick, heady, haze that masked the worn dustiness of the hand-sewn pillows cast about the rough floor around the far edges of the tent. Dead in the center, a form draped in a shawl that must have been stiflingly hot in such a cramped space sat before an ancient, low, wooden table; they were perched on a threadbare fringed cushion, and tilted their shaded face towards Blackwall as he entered.  
“A customer?” came a soft, husky, voice from the figure at the table. “Well, hello. Do come completely in. Cover the door behind you, if you would.”  
Blackwall let the flap swish shut. His eyes watered in the choking smoke. “What are you selling, exactly?”  
“Incense and insights.” The figure responded, one arm gesturing to a second cushion across from them at the little table. “If the latter interests you more, than please, take a seat. If not, I’m all out of incense, I’m afraid.”  
“yeah, you’re burning all of your stock right now.” Blackwall tried to clear his throat, still standing awkwardly at the edge of the tent, prepared to step back out into the market and reality.. “How do you sell insight, exactly?”  
“You came to me.” The figure folded back the hood of the shawl, revealing themselves to a startlingly lovely Dalish elf. Her face wore the striking tattoos Blackwall associated with the wild elves; but hers were strikingly pale against her dark, sun-kissed skin. Her dark eyes sparkled with a feral mischief. Her raven black hair was braided tightly, as thick as a snake, and draped over one shoulder. She seemed to exist between planes. One foot in Orlais, and the other directly touching the fade itself.  
“yeah, and I’m not exactly sure why.” Blackwall took a half pace back, breaking the enchantment she held over him. He started to push the flap back open.  
“Stay.” The elf commanded softly. “What could it hurt? You already have a question, and I know I can answer it. How do I see insight? Let me show you. First one on the house.”  
She smiled at Blackwall, her ageless face not crinkling or shifting with the gesture. A power seemed to hum around her.  
Blackwall let the flap shit again, shrugging and sitting across from the elf. What could it hurt? He’d seen palm readers with ornate decks of cards and sparkly crystals at markets before. This one was just a pretty girl instead of an old crone.”Alright. But I won’t guarantee I’ll be paying for a second one.”  
“I am Fenla.” The elf leaned over the table, holding out her fine, long-fingered hands to request one of his. “Please, remove the glove and let me see.”  
Blackwall did as he was bid, giving his calloused hand over to her. Fenla gently took it, flipping it palm up. Her touch was hot, almost burning like she had a fever. He nearly snatched his hand away from her; But Fenla had him in a firm grip.  
“Relax.” She commanded again, kneading his thick palm with curious fingers. She was intent on her work, lightly tracing the creases and folds.  
“Well?” Blackwall asked, impatient already.  
“Life has taken quite the turn for you, has it not?” Fenla did not look up from the map of his palm. “You did not expect to find yourself here. But, you’re a workhorse…or rather, a war horse in this case. ..you’ll see thus through to the best of your ability. You’ve been a soldier for as ,long as you…care to recall. Correct?”  
“You can tell I swing a sword. Did the callouses give me away? Or just a lucky guess?” Blackwall’s skepticism was biting, but Fenla seemed unperturbed.  
“Oh, I never have to guess.” The elf smirked, still holding his hand lightly. “First one was on the house. Shall I go on?”  
“That is what you call insight?” Blackwall sneered, shaking his head. “No, I’ll be going now.”  
“Are you sure? You are so worried you’ll be caught.” Fenla murmured so low Blackwall almost didn’t hear her. His mouth went dry, but he kept his outward composure. He tried to draw his hand away, but Fenla’ voice gave him pause.  
“You’ve been worried you’ll be caught for years now. But the stakes just keep getting higher, don’t they? Higher than the gallows. Higher then the noose that lies waiting.” The elf continued, her dark eyes flicking up to Blackwall’s in a hollow stare that made him squirm. “Murder for murder, death for death,lies for lies and you have earned it all.”  
“I…This…This is a joke.” Blackwall insisted, pulling his hand away fiercely and jerking up to his feet.  
Fenla grabbed him roughly by the wrist with both hands, rising as he did, the small table knocked aside. She never blinked once. The incense smoke seemed to quiver around her.  
“We’re not done here. Not until I say we are. You’re here with the Inquisitor…do they know of your sins? Warden Blackwall?”  
Blackwall couldn’t shake her steeply grip. He was caught in her coils. “You saw me come in with The Inquisitor.” He insisted weakly, frozen like a halla before a hungry wolf.  
“I see a lot of things.” Fenla hissed lowly, her dark eyes swirling with magic like the sky before a bad storm. “I see that you…feel for…Trevelyan? What a shame. What a shame. If she were to discover her strong Warden was spinning such an elaborate tale…”  
“I’ll pay.” Blackwall blurted, unraveled, as panicked as a fox in a snare.  
“We all pay.” Fenla finally blinked, batting her almond-shaped eyes back to normal. “But I don’t want your gold. I want a flesh tribute.”  
“What the hell is a flesh tribute?” Blackwall strained against her impossible grip.  
“To keep myself strong, I take life force from all sorts of places.” Fenla pulled him closer to her, cocking her head and looking up at him through her lashes.  
“Blood magic?” Blackwall barked, loathing how easily the lithe elf maneuvered him as though he were an emaciated waif.  
“No, foolish brute. But we can call it Lust magic, to make it a little easier for you.”  
“I refuse.” Blackwall growled through clenched teeth, glaring at her with poison in his icy gray eyes.  
“Then I will sing the most interesting song to the City guard and to your Inquisitor.” Fenla’ smile was toothy. Wolfish. “Come on, you may find you enjoy it.”  
“they’ll never believe you.” Blackwall hissed.  
“You’d be surprised how quickly the law acts on a lead for a wanted murderer and deserter.Not to mention, posing as a Gray Warden. The other wardens will want to know what happened to the real captain, I’m sure.” Fenla went onto her tip toes, kissing Blackwall’s hard mouth, her tongue probing softly for entry.  
Blackwall recoiled as though bitten. He had a choice to make. Did he bend to the will of this strange elf, or take his chances? What if she told on him, anyway? His shame would be doubled then.  
“I’m good to my word.” Fenla spoke as though she could read his thoughts. “I can swear whatever oath you need, but by my gods and yours, of all the things I am a liar isn't one of them.”  
The word ‘liar’ rang with venom. It made Blackwall flinch in visceral loathing.  
“Alright.” He snarled lowly, succumbing to his latest fate. “But if you betray me, I will kill you before I step onto the gallows. I promise.”  
“What’s one more head, right?” Fenla purred, releasing him.  
Blackwall jerked his hand back, rubbing the sore spot on his wrist where she had held him. A bruise was beginning to form. What was this woman? There as no way she was simply an elf. The magic that was at work between her pointed ears was unlike anything any other mage had fired at him before.

Fenla waved one hand as she turned to cross the tent, and all the incense smoke that had churned and danced in the tent vanished completely in an instant. Only dust motes danced in the soft shards of slanted sunlight.  
Blackwall sucked a deep breath of clean air. “Well? Are we going to get this over with?”  
“Tonight.” Fenla kept her back to him. Blackwall was tempted to just snap her neck and be done with her. “Come back tonight, and bring me a bottle of wine and one crystal grace blossom. I like gifts…oh, and Warden?”  
“What?” Blackwall snapped, fuming with rage.  
“You are welcome to try breaking my neck…or killing me in any way really, but…” She turned to him and dropped her voluminous shawl. Beneath it, she was stark naked. Her lithe, slim, hips and small, rounded breasts the same honey tan shade as the rest of her. Her Vallaslin wound like vines of moonlight attractively to enhance her feminine features, curling delicately into the small patch of fine, dark hair between her long legs. “I wouldn’t recommend it. I promise I’m faster than you are. See you tonight, my love. Meet me here.”

Blackwall found it easy to slip away from Skyhold and find himself back at Fenla’ tent. What had been difficult was giving a reason to be picking crystal grace blossoms from Skyhold’s garden.  
The spiteful elf had only asked for one, so Blackwall had left the other two perfect, white, blossoms he had taken at the foot of The Inquisitor’s door. One for affection, and one for shame, he told himself as he rode out into the darkening twilight at breakneck speed.  
He had two bottles of wine in his saddlebags, and as he rode, he broke into the first one, swigging from it sloppily. He refused to admit he was scared of this Dalish girl. This slender mage. For it wasn’t her he feared; it was the knowledge she now possessed over him…and the pressing concern that ‘lust magic’ would end in a brutal human sacrifice to whatever god her tattoos marked her for. Where was her clan? Who was she? Who had she done this to already?  
He drowned these questions in more wine, finishing the bottle.  
Blackwall saw Fenla, huddled in her large shawl outside of her tent. He didn’t stop his mount until they had nearly born down on her, hoping to startle the elf.  
Fenla hadn’t so much as twitched.  
“Did you remember my gifts?” Fenla asked.  
Blackwall tossed the remaining bottle of wine and crumpled blossom on the ground at her feet. He took a small satisfaction in her bending to pick them up. He dismounted and hitched his horse, while Fenla stowed the wine and flower in a satchel.  
“Follow me, handsome.” She smiled at him, starting on light tread into the woods nearby.  
Blackwall trudged after her, letting her lead from several paces ahead as the trees around them grew thicker and more gnarled. They skirted into an ancient forest, but kept going even deeper. Neither spoke, and Blackwall was grateful for it.  
The moon overhead was shadowed by growing clouds and tree limbs, leaving them in near complete darkness before Fenla stopped. Blackwall drew up alongside her.  
“Here we are.” Fenla whispered, pushing the low brush and branches out of the way to reveal a small clearing. A circle of open sky and soft grass, maybe 12 feet wide. The scent of wet earth and the threat of rain made the air clear. Under different circumstances, it could have been truly beautiful.  
“Let’s just finish this.” Blackwall mumbled, striding into the center of the clearing and crossing his arms.  
“Wait just a moment, my love.” Fenla cooed, stooping to kneel and rummaging through her satchel. She opened the wine, pulverized the crystal grace blossom, added the silvery contents of a vial and shook up the wine. She took a deep, long, sip of the mixture before holding the bottle out to the warden.  
“No.” Blackwall refused flatly.  
“Yes.” Fenla goaded, eyes flashing dangerously. “Otherwise, we’re just fucking for the fun of it”  
“I’ve had enough wine. That’s the only reason I haven’t run you through.”  
“Charming. No wine, no deal.” Fenla snapped, rising in one fluid motion and closing the distance between them to thrust the bottle into the broad chest. “Be a good boy, and do it correctly.”  
Blackwall snatched the bottle from her. Fine. She had drunk the same mixture, and if it was poisoned, he still reckoned it wasn’t much of a loss. He tilted it back, throat bobbing as he gulped again and again. It tasted of crisp, cold, water. Not of wine at all. It’s coolness spread through him quickly, and it’s effects came just as fast. His head swam pleasantly.  
“Don’t finish all of it.” Fenla had to physically take the bottle from him to get another couple mouthfuls before the bottle went dry. She let it fall to the grass, her head tilting back to the sky and her eyes closing. A soft smile spread across her perfect bow mouth as her face smoothed in the picture of bliss.  
Blackwall tried to step forward, towards the pretty elf, all loathing for her temporarily smothered…but found it as easier to sink into the silky soft bed of grass beneath them. He tore off his boots, wanting to be barefoot as Fenla was, and leaned back on his elbows to plant his feet on the ground.  
“What did you give me?” He asked dreamily, watching Fenla as she slid her hands down the front of her shawl.  
Without looking at him or opening her eyes, Fenla answered as she let the shawl once gain drop off of her naked body. “It’s part of the ritual. I cannot take from an unwilling partner. Deep down, I knew you wanted this. I just had to get you there.”  
She seemed to glow in the meager light the clouded night sky offered. Blackwall watched her curiously as she seemed to dance and sway, swinging her hips to a tune he could not hear.  
“Why did you drink it then?”  
“Because it’s fun.” Fenla stopped dancing, attention snapping to where he sat in the grass. “Come on. Feel the sky on your skin.”  
Blackwall was numbly aware that he had literally been drugged as rose to his knees to pull off his heavy padded coat and rough tunic. Oddly, he didn’t care as much when he felt crisp night air on his bare flesh. The wine made that single sensation sharp a midst the myriad of feelings it had numbed. He wasn’t willing, per say, he just didn’t care as much.  
Fenla kneeled before him,lowering to her hands and knees. The posture was lewd, almost too suggestive. Like a bitch in heat, Blackwall numbly thought; yet not completely unappealing. Just like a bitch in heat, she would be eager to be fucked. She would crave it like a starving wolf craved the limping lamb. He sat back on his elbows again, and Fenla padded between his knees, pushing her bare chest against his as she straddled him. She still radiated a feverish heat that burned in startling contrast to the cool, damp, breeze around them.  
Fenla ground their pelvises together, arching her back and thrusting her breasts out.  
“I have waited so long for this.” She groaned,rubbing herself against his breeches with the rolling of her hips.  
“What, a day?” Blackwall caught himself watching her, and felt his traitorous cock stir in response. He couldn’t help it. It just felt so good to have a woman in his lap.“Maybe a few hours?”  
Fenla must have felt his rising arousal as well, as she gave a small moan. “No. It has been so long since someone came into my tent who was so beautiful.”  
“Save it.That’s not what this is about.” Blackwall grunted, planting one hand on her flat belly while his other hand unlaced the front of his breeches. He eased his hardening cock free, hissing softly through his teeth at the bracing breeze.  
The elf straddling him slid back, bending down to take his cock into her wet, hot, mouth. Blackwall groaned softly, his hand going to wind into her thick black braid. He guided her, bobbing her head up and down, while delighting in the rivulets of saliva that ran down his length and dripped down his tight balls. The elf wasn’t shy, at least.  
Fenla relished in the taste of him, running her tongue along the back of him as he pulled her head back up, careful to sweep it over his sensitive head before he shoved her back down. She loved the way it made him grunt and groan. And when the warden began to thrust his hips against her, she welcomed it, opening her mouth has wide as she could. She slurped loudly, and panted through her nose as Blackwall went from bobbing her head for her, to locking it down in place.  
He fucked her face with a careless abandon, plunging himself down the back of her throat and taking true satisfaction in making her choke and gag. She didn’t fight, nor did she resist, as he punished her throat with his cock, purposefully ramming it so far down her throat she couldn’t breathe. Between the heightened sensitivity of the wine and the rapid pace at which he bucked his hungry hips, he was in sheer heaven. Yet, he wanted more. If this dalish menace wanted “lust magic” he would give it to her.  
Blackwall yanked Fenla’s face off of his painfully hard member, pulling her by the braid and forcing her to scramble back to straddle him. She yelped, casting him a wicked glare, but he didn’t care. His grip went from her braid to her hips, pulling her aggressively down on his cock before she could complain.  
“Well, fuck me then!” He snarled at her, his cock slick enough with her drool to plunge smoothly into her damp sex.  
She howled like a beast, her hands scratching up her own thighs as he forced her to take him to the hilt. Even her tight orifice radiated an unnatural heat; the wine made it incredible. His head swam for a moment as he lost himself in the ecstasy of that first thrust into a woman. Fenla picked up where he left off above him, leaning forward to slide him slowly in and out of her, her eyes lidded and her lips parted to freely moan the erotic song of the true whore. She lived for the complete feeling that fucking gave her. When her sex was filled, she was alive. She rocked back, rolling her hips and grinding him against the aching, wet places of pleasure deep in her core.  
Fenla’s hands flew to Blackwall’s, pulling them to her breasts as she rode him. Blackwall cupped them, hesitantly at first, but with growing desire as he made Fenla moan and bounce on his cock with renewed enthusiasm. He squeezed them, rolling her tight nipples between his fingers.  
The Elf bucked with pleasure, stopping her bouncing to roll him slowly inside of her. She postponed her orgasm, sliding wetly off his cock. In one swift motion she turned away from him, and remounted, shuddering at the bliss of feeling him return.  
Blackwall’s hands instinctively went to her hips, pulling her down roughly with a grunt and holding her in place for a moment, feeling his head grind deeply against her cervix and making her wail in pain before he let her go. She whimpered as she started to rock her round ass back and forth, bending low over his legs to make a display of her fucking him. This pleased the warden, earning her a small growl as he watched his thick girth stretch her pink sex open wide as she slid to the base, and back up nearly to the tip. He enjoyed a few strokes before demanding with his grip on her for more, for faster and harder. He pushed her up off of him, pulling her to turn her back around.  
Fenla got the hint, mounting him forwards again. She immediately set into riding him as hard as she could, rocking her hips and rolling her sensitive clit against him.  
Losing himself in the moment, Blackwall sharply slapped the side of her thigh, making her scream in earnest. But she didn’t break pace, pushing herself closer and closer to the edge with a feral desperation. When she did orgasm, it came in hard, crushing, waves up her spine. she jolted back, her hands clawing the warden;s chest as her entire body went rigid. The slick muscles of her sex milked Blackwall’s cock. He groaned loudly, ramming one final sharp thrust as her orgasm seemed to wring the cum from his member with alarming force. At the moment it became unbearable, Fenla’s body went limp above him, releasing them both from the spell.  
They panted together, tied and slick with sweat.  
Once Blackwall caught his breath, he pushed the Dalish seer off of him and yanked his breeches shut, relacing them with trembling hands. “We had a deal.”  
Fenla stretched out on the grass, leaning on one elbow, a playful smile dancing across her lips. “You’ll never hear from me again. Pass me my shawl?”  
“No.” Blackwall growled, pulling his shirt and padded coat back on. His legs shook as he stood. The wine’s effects had begun to wear off, but his head still swam and the sky still seemed to have a surreal sparkle overhead. “Point me back to your maker forsaken tent.”  
“So eager to depart?” Fenla asked, rising with grace and lightly padding to her discarded shawl. She drew it’s winding length around her, casting the hood over her head. Within moments, the rain the sky had been threatening began to fall. Just a soft pattering of icy droplets. What was left of the wine in their systems made them shimmer like cut stones.  
“Yes. Just let me go.”  
Fenla breathed a deep lungful of air. “If you insist…”  
She stretched one arm as high as she could, and swung it down in a swift arc. A wave of white-hot heat, as scorching as the whipping winds of the wastes nearly knocked Blackwall over.  
The world went black.  
When the warden came to again, he was astride his horse, who stood calmly in the middle of the road to Val Royeaux, already pointed towards Skyhold. Rain pelted from a dark sky above. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, but the sky was still night-dark. He shook his head, clearing it. No, yes, he had lost all time between the clearing and now…but, frankly, he wasn’t going to care. He spurred his horse in a dead run for Skyhold.  
Weeks went by. Blackwall put the night with the seer out of his mind. He only thought of it when he was alone with the Inquisitor, and then, only in brief flashes of shame when lady Trevelyan favored him with her most charming of smiles. Another secret. Another lie. But, it was done.  
One early, as dawn painted the sky in pink and orange darts of color, Blackwall descended the loft of the barn he called home to see a bundle of wrapped paper left in the center of the floor. Cautiously, he unfolded it.  
A single pale crystal grace blossom, dried and fragile, slid into his hand.  
Shocked, he scanned the paper it had been wrapped in and, to his horror, found handwriting he did not recognize:  
“I think of you when I walk in the woods, filled with vigor and life. Crush this and add it to her wine. Make it an evening to remember. Show no one your hand. -F”


End file.
